Come Home To You
by RunningGladiator
Summary: Fitz and Liv steal a weekend away from the hustle and bustle of Washington.


**A/N: Just a little something. Just because. Let me know what you think. I want to say a special thanks to my loyal readers who have stuck with me since the first days of Duplicity. I could never put into words how much your support means to me. Your sweet messages and subtle (or not so subtle) nudges make my day. **

The fire crackled, an amber glow dancing across the partially covered bodies that lay entwined on the plush rug. Rapid, heaving breaths escaped them both as he scattered kisses along her jaw and collarbone.

"So soft…." His lips glided along her flesh, "beautiful…."

Her nails found the nape of his neck, urging his mouth to continue its journey and a petite giggle slipped from her barely parted lips.

"How did I get so lucky?" he treated her to his sexiest lopsided grin, propping himself on his elbow.

"I guess you've been a good boy," she returned with a coy smile. He watched her tongue moisten her lips and the urge to kiss her was too much.

"You're a bad, bad girl Olivia Pope," he murmured before joining their mouths. His hands glided along her sides, flattening over her belly, her skin scorching his palms. Goosebumps spread over her flesh, the anticipation of where his hands would travel next set her mind racing.

"Fitz," her breathy tone sent a quiver down to his toes and all he wanted was for her to keep talking, to say his name, tell him exactly what she wanted. Perhaps it was how professional and buttoned up she seemed when they were hard at work in the White House or the way her skirts glided above her knee when she crossed one leg over the other, but the way she behaved when they weren't alone left him panting, aching to touch her and discover all that lay beneath her well-tailored suits. In those first moments when he would finally get her alone he could physically feel the energy between them, the want, the need, his body demanding contact with hers.

His hands traversed the slope of her breasts, pausing to lavish extra attention on her pert, pebbled nipples. He watched her face contort in a visage of sheer arousal, her mouth falling open, eyes wide, pupils dilated with lust. In the four years they had been involved he learned how to drive her to the brink, then just as she dangled at the precipice he would pull her back. The frustration of his touch, the torture of being so close to the climax she desired yet unable to take it before he allowed left her breathless.

She pressed her breasts into his hands, wordlessly begging him to finish her but his hands escaped to their next target, her round, firm backside. He lifted her hips, grinding his growing erection against her throbbing clit, his mouth again capturing hers, swallowing the moans that drifted from her lips.

Her mouth ventured to his flushed ear, "I need you."

The words tore his last shred of restraint and he thrust hard into her. The friction caused her back to arch, her long neck exposed to his pillaging mouth, his teeth marking the immaculate flesh. Then it was a race to their mutual release. His hand gripped her neck, dominating her, the tips of his fingers marking her jaw. Fully at his mercy, she submitted to his demanding mouth, his taut powerful torso, his imperious grip.

They battled for control, Fitz believing he held the upper hand until the petite vixen beneath him asserted her best attempts to wrest power.

"So big," her tone could give the best phone sex operator a run for her money, "Give it to me Fitz."

A low groan smoldered deep within him, every sliver of attention on her, puffy, bee stung lips, the brush of her breath against the side of his face, nails inscribing her mark on his scalp and the nape of his neck, her tight, moist warmth enrapturing him with each lazy stroke.

Though he had more than his fair share of sex in his 49 years, he was after all the dashingly handsome son of a wealthy former senator, he had never been with a woman who made him feel so confident, so virile, so powerful. He didn't worry about the few extra pounds he thought he carried or whether he kissed her the way she liked. As much as he revered her, stood in awe of her perfection, he saw much of the same reflected in her chestnut eyes.

A roll of his hips and her eyes flew open wide.

"You like that?" a surge of heat sped through her when his warm lips closed over her earlobe.

"Yes," it escaped her as a whisper.

"Tell me," he thrust harder, changing the angle, mustering every ounce of control to hold off the orgasm that threatened to assail him at any second.

Olivia bit her bottom lip, until just the faintest taste of ferrous registered on her taste buds. There was no pain when she was with Fitz, just rapture and intemperance but her lip would be sore in the morning.

"I like that," she bowed into him, forcing friction between his rippling chest muscles and her firm nipples.

His thrusts were now deeper, more pronounced and each touched her in a place no other man had ever reached. She thought back to the first night they made love, on every surface of a hotel room in Georgia. Never had she fancied herself a woman who was loud during sex but the first touch of his mouth, the first plunge of his hulking length, and a scream tore from her lungs. He filled her completely, the torment too much. She wanted to push him away and pull him closer simultaneously, instead she rode him to unknown heights over and over.

"I'm gonna cum Livvie," his jaw was set tight, every muscle in his shoulders pulsing as he loomed above her.

"Yes," she murmured, staring straight into his grey blue eyes, her nails dragging a trail from his shoulders to his taut buttocks.

"You first," his fingers hastily found her pulsating clit, sending her hurtling into oblivion with a scream that shook the windows. Almost immediately he found his own release with a groan of her name.

He tried to roll away, afraid his weight was too much for her slight frame, but her fingers dug into his hips, maintaining the contact between their lower halves. He leaned into her, bringing his forehead into contact with hers, noses brushing against one another, pecking her lips.

"We need to be careful or we'll have half my secret service detail in here," he grinned, "You aren't shy about telling the world how much you like what I do to you."

Her cheeks turned a heated shade of pink and she smiled, "Cocky aren't you?"

"You can't hide it Livvie," he teased.

Olivia rolled her eyes, wriggling beneath him, his renewed arousal urging against her inner thigh.

"In that case we better not risk doing it again," her grin was wicked and she slipped from beneath him pulling the thin cotton blanket around her. He tried but failed to catch the blanket as she scurried towards the dark kitchen.

"Where do you think you're going?" he ran a hand through his hair, unable to keep his eyes off her barely covered form.

She glanced back over her shoulder with a cock of her hip, "Water, want some?"

Olivia didn't wait for him to answer, pulling two bottles of Voss from the refrigerator, she brought them back to where Fitz sat in front of the fire and held one out to him.

"Thank you, Beautiful," he leaned in for a kiss, suckling her swollen lower lip.

They each took lingering gulps from their respective bottles. Fitz shivered, his skin still damp from his recent exertion and he drew part of the blanket around him.

"Warm me up."

She smiled and yawned as he scooted closer to her, the heat from his body radiating against hers. Fatigue flooded her sore muscles, more a product of their activities than the hour, and she stretched out on the floor again, wrapping the blanket around her. He sat next to her, the blanket draped across his hips.

"Lay with me," she said lazily, eyelids fluttering. But she needn't ask twice, he gladly cuddled in beside her, resting his head next to hers, brushing kisses across her shoulder.

"I love you Livvie," he whispered and pulled the blanket further up his torso.

She didn't answer, the smooth, even breaths of sleep floating from her partially open mouth. He tried to feign that it didn't bother him that she hadn't yet returned that sentiment despite the multiple times he'd professed his adoration. She needed to get there in her own time and, deep down, he knew he wasn't being fair. They were still a secret, still met during stolen minutes and hours at Camp David or, like that night, at the house he'd built for her in Vermont.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest, her dark locks spilling across the pillow he'd pulled from the couch for her to rest her head on. In their dimly lit house, away from the demands of the presidency and a Washington crisis management firm, things were the picture of simplicity. When she slept the crease of worry she carried between her brows disappeared and every muscle eased. His hands ached to glide down the column of her neck, over her shoulder that lay bare, across the curve of her hip that peeked from beneath the blanket. She was soft and warm, his safe harbor in the tumult of governing and parenting and simply existing in a world of constant judgment.

The trance of her beauty was broken when his cell phone vibrated on the nearby coffee table, falling to the floor.

"Hello?" he whispered, pulling on his jeans as he walked into the dark kitchen.

He took another bottle of water from the refrigerator and listened to the voice on the other end of the line, his attention still partially on the gorgeous body that lay in the low, ochre glow in the next room.

"I'm trusting you to take care of it," his voice conveyed both his expectations and his desire to end the conversation. When the person on the other end began speaking again, clearly not picking up on the meaning of his tone, he drummed his fingers on the marble countertops. It was a habit, what he did when he was impatient or irritated. But this time it was different and the voice faded to a mere drone. There was no clink from the gold band and his attention turned to the pale line on his left ring finger. He had taken it off nearly a month earlier, the day he'd filed for divorce.

A long held breath escaped from him in disgust, "Cyrus, can this wait until I get back?"

He listened a beat, "Cyrus," his voice was a little louder and he turned to face out the window towards the deck, "Cyrus, we will talk about this when I get back."

The dull ache in his temple was becoming a steady thud as Cyrus regaled him with tales of Mellie's latest antics. If he didn't know better he would swear the man was purposely being obtuse and the mere thought had him gripping the phone hard enough to send his knuckles into a ghostly shade of white, "Cyrus," his booming voice stopped his Chief of Staff's harangue momentarily, "Unless she is single-handedly dismantling democracy I don't want to hear about it until I get back to D.C. Now I have to go."

He listened another moment then finished, "No, I'm alone. I don't know where Olivia is," and pressed _END. _His forehead fell against the cool sliding glass door, the concerns of the outside world whirring in his mind. He ran his hands through his hair, determined not to let Cyrus or Mellie ruin his weekend with Olivia.

"Why did you tell Cyrus you didn't know where I was?" her voice startled him and he spun to face her.

"Livvie," he said with a mix of surprise and desire at her current state of undress.

"Why did you say you were alone?"

His dishonesty with Cyrus concerned and perplexed her. Cyrus knew about their relationship, he was one of only a handful of people who knew where Fitz went when he disappeared for weekends away, they had both confided in him. It didn't make sense and she wondered if it was Cyrus he distrusted, or her.

When he didn't immediately reply she reached for the bottle of water that sat on the counter beside him. She leaned close enough for him to smell her shampoo, her perfume, and feel the heat of her flesh through the thin blanket that covered her. If he wasn't going to come clean she was going to torture him.

He reached to touch her elbow and she slipped just barely from his grasp.

"Livvie," he groaned.

"Why did you tell Cy you didn't know where I was?" a coy smile curved her lips and she slowly licked them for effect.

"I didn't want him to bother you," Fitz tried at a feeble explanation.

She narrowed her eyes in his direction, "Now the truth, why didn't you tell Cyrus I was here?"

"It's none of his business," Fitz's voice shook slightly, he was clearly nervous, "I just wanted to keep you all to myself."

He took a step towards her, hoping contact between them would end her inquisition. Only a foot of space separated them but it wasn't close enough for him. He was drunk on the sight of her, the scent of her, desperately wanting to forget about Mellie and Andrew plotting against him and his off-hand lie to Cyrus.

"Just forget it Livvie," his lips neared the curve of her ear, he backed her into the counter, his body caging her.

"I want to know," she fought the goose bumps that raced across her flesh but her resolve was slipping.

One more step and firm denim abraded her inner thigh sending a wave of warmth to her center. It was a battle between her mind and her body, her increased breathing and flushed skin foretelling which would likely win out.

He trailed his mouth along the curve of her neck and down the exposed flesh of her collarbone, the tightening of his jeans growing uncomfortable. She tasted like heaven, sweeter than the ripe strawberries he fed to her in summer and richer than the cheesecake they'd shared while in France.

"Fitz…."

"Later…"

"Now," she insisted, her palms pressed into the hard planes of his chest.

His lips left her skin, the cool air hitting her damp flesh causing a chill down her spine. Her chestnut eyes bore into him causing him to relent with a sigh.

"I don't know why I told Cy I was alone," his answer sent her gaze to the planks of hardwood beneath her feet and he felt her slipping away from him.

"Okay, this," he motioned between them, "is why I didn't tell him. I'm so tired of Cyrus and Mellie ruining what little time we have together."

She nibbled her lower lip at the prospect of his statement. She felt guilty, remorseful that they were spending their fleeting time talking about his wife and Chief of Staff.

"I wanted this weekend to just be about us Livvie," he turned back towards the window, his palms running over his face in exhaustion and exasperation, "I didn't want this."

Olivia closed the distance between them, her hand resting between his shoulder blades. She touched her lips to his shoulder, a silent apology for pushing for an answer that wasn't there and conceivably ruining their weekend.

"I don't want other people encroaching on our time, Livvie," he spoke in the direction of the glass.

"I know," she said gently, kissing his other shoulder and running her palm down his spine.

"Soon we'll have time but right now…." His voice trailed off and she filled in the blanks in her mind.

"I thought there was something you weren't telling me," she explained moving close enough for her barely covered breasts to touch his back, "I don't want us to have secrets."

He turned and pulled her tight against his chest. He was reassuring, protecting, trying to force the world away. He wished he hadn't answered the phone, that he had stayed wrapped in their secluded oasis.

They had sworn weeks ago to forget their past indiscretions, the times they'd hurt one another, the secrets they'd kept. But their secrets and indiscretions weren't things they were people and places. They were Cyrus and Mellie and Verna and Hollis. It was Ohio and Florida and Oregon.

"It's Mellie and Andrew, Liv," clearing the air was the only way he saw clear of this intrusion.

"We don't need to talk about it," she whispered, her eyes not meeting his. She knew he was trying and felt foolish for pushing, for thinking he'd keep something from her, "Let's go to bed."

"No secrets," he took another swallow of water.

"Tell me tomorrow," a coquettish smirk touched her lips and her hand released the blanket that hung loose around her sending it pooling to the floor.

"Livvie….." his gaze traveled from her red, puffy lower lip to the faint love bite on the inside of her arm and down her long, slender legs to her red painted toes.

"Come to bed Mr. President," her breathy tone made his jeans unbearably tight as he watched her naked figure scamper towards the stairs.

Without a thought his feet were following, gaining on her with each step. He caught her as she reached the third step, scooping her off her feet and sinking his teeth into the curve of the top of her breast.

"Fitz, you're going to drop me," she giggled.

"Never," he growled continuing up the stairs towards the bedroom.

"Wait…stop…." She begging when he tossed her onto the down duvet.

He climbed over her, stalking her with his eyes and mouth and hands. She laughed mercilessly when his weight sunk down upon her. Then he was plundering, his lips, his teeth, his hands seemingly touching her everywhere she needed him. Her mind was hazy, heart thumping against her ribcage, breaths coming in a short staccato. She felt herself quickly spiraling out of control, desire absconding with her until her sole focus was Fitz.

His head fell to her shoulder, her lips poised against the shell of his ear, then the words flowed without a second thought, "I love you, Fitz."


End file.
